


Prodigal Sons

by lethargicProfessor



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicProfessor/pseuds/lethargicProfessor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the Prodigal run (the first time Dick Grayson was Batman and Tim Drake was Robin).</p>
<p>What if they had to deal with the return of Jason Todd who was still traumatized, zombie-like from digging his way out of the grave? With Bruce vanished without a trace, Alfred still off in England after quitting, and them dealing with the issues of Gotham, how do Tim and Dick manage a traumatized, teenaged Jason? Who can they turn to or even trust with this? What trouble comes the formerly dead Robin? And can they handle it physically or mentally? Will Jason recover?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prodigal Sons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Abbyromana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbyromana/gifts).



 

“ _Hey, B, come in_.”

It took Dick a moment to respond, having almost forgotten the heavy weight of the cape on his shoulders. He cleared his throat, aiming for the gravelly tone that struck fear in criminals. “What is it, Robin?”

He sounded like he had a head cold, but thankfully Tim didn’t say anything. His voice was breathless as he wheezed into the comm.  “ _You need to get to Crime Alley, okay? You gotta see this._ ”

If he said anything else, Dick couldn’t tell – the sound of a rattling garbage can drowned out everything else. Tim made a noise, something between a laugh and a choke. “ _Hurry, okay? I don’t know how much longer I can keep him out of trouble!_ ”

“Robin, what are you talking about?” Dick tapped his comms repeatedly, but received no response. Annoyed, he shot a grapple across his perch to a gargoyle on the First Bank, swinging his way across the city skyline to Crime Alley.

They had more important things to worry about, to be honest. Harvey Dent was still out somewhere doing God knows what, and they still had another bunch of loose ends in Gotham too. Dick could still feel the Ratcatcher’s pets crawling all over him. Fighting a shudder, he hurried across the Gotham night.

It took him ten minutes to get to Crime Alley, and another fifteen to track Tim down. He couldn’t reach him on the comms, and trawling through Park Row wasn’t as easy as it sounded. He eventually found him sitting on a dumpster with someone else, his cape wrapped around their shoulders against the chill.

Dick landed carefully on the fire escape above them, and frowned as Tim lifted his head to shush him. He ducked his head to the person beside him, whispering something Dick couldn’t catch, but the hunched figure didn’t move.

Sighing, Tim waved him down, ruffling his hair with his free hand. The other, Dick noted, was wrapped firmly around the other person’s shoulders.

It was a boy, he saw as he dropped down from the fire escape. His head was bowed, and he didn’t look up as Dick got closer. “What’s going on?”

“I found him.” Tim looked up, rubbing the boy’s shoulder lightly. “I didn’t think you’d believe me if I told you over the comms, so…”

He cleared his throat, turning to nudge the boy carefully. “Hey…look, this is the friend I was telling you about. He’s going to help you, alright?”

Slowly, the boy looked up, and Dick’s blood ran cold. Dull green eyes watched him evenly as he walked closer, almost in a trance.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Tim whispered, shifting as the weight against his shoulder lifted. The other boy didn’t look much older than Tim, but the dark circles under his eyes against his pale skin made him seem like a corpse.  His suit was caked with mud and torn, but it wasn’t hard for Dick to imagine how pristine it must have looked when it was first tailored. After all, he had one just like it.

He felt his heart sink as he pulled the cowl from his face, reaching out with shaking hands to cup the teenager’s face, tilting it this way and that. His nose wasn’t broken anymore, and the white shock of hair above his right eye was new, but there was no mistaking it.

“Jason…” He breathed through the lump in his throat, pulling the younger boy close to his chest. Jason didn’t resist, arms limp at his sides as he was unceremoniously shoved face-first into the bat.

Tim slid off the dumpster, pulling his cape back onto his shoulders. “I was patrolling the area when I heard gunshots, so I came over. It must have been a mugging, or something. I’m not sure, the witnesses were gone by the time I made it. All I found was a couple of guys knocked out cold and…him just standing there. He hasn’t said anything or…done anything, really. But he followed me after I asked him to, so there’s that.”

Dick squeezed Jason’s shoulders gently, running a gloved hand through his hair. “He’s been unresponsive this whole time?”

“Yeah. Like a zombie.” Tim said, then visibly winced. “I mean…well…”

He fell silent, awkwardly watching as Dick patted the other boy down. Jason _felt_ real, and Dick was fairly sure this wasn’t a hallucination, though he wouldn’t put it past a rogue or two to try. Jason allowed the pat-down without a complaint, mutely following directions as Dick herded him away from the mouth of the alley.

Tim hurried after them, glancing back at the street. “What are we going to do?”

“We take him home, Tim. What else can we do?”

* * *

 

Dick had been hoping (maybe a bit naively) that being in the manor would trigger something for Jason. A memory or a reaction, at least. Anything but the robotic way he shuffled about after them.

“Maybe it’s because the manor looks so run down?” Tim asked, shrugging as he balled up his uniform and threw it in the washing machine. Jason sat on an upturned laundry basket, staring at the floor as Dick started another load of laundry.  “I mean, it all looks different from back then, right?”

“Yeah…” Dick sighed, cracking his knuckles. “Maybe that’s what it is.”

Tim nodded, waving his hand at Jason to get his attention. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving. Dick’s a great cook, did you know that?”

Jason stood slowly as Tim walked back upstairs, talking about Dick’s cooking and Alfred leaving and Bruce disappearing to wherever to find himself.

Dick stayed in the laundry room a few minutes longer, feeling a throbbing in his temples. They still had to track down Dent, and figure out how to deal with the growing problem at Blackgate. He didn't have the time or the energy to deal with that, and Jason’s recovery.

Not to mention the gnawing doubt at the back of his mind as the Two-Face problem grew. Bruce had almost died at the hands of Harvey Dent before, and here he was, trying to live up to Bruce’s legacy. He had big shoes to fill, and now, not only did he have to watch over Gotham and Tim, he had Jason back.

He was torn between feeling elated that Jason was back, that he had been given a second chance to be a good big brother like he had never been, and horrified at the thought of having him back as a shell of what he used to be.

The scariest thing was the uncertainty.

“I don’t know what to do,” he sighed at the empty room, feeling the crushing weight of those small words echo around him.

Bruce would know what to do. He always did.

That’s why he was Batman.

Dick would never compare.

* * *

 

They watched Jason mechanically shovel food into his mouth for a few minutes in silence. “What do we do now?”

Dick had been asking himself that since Crime Alley, and was still coming up blank. “I’m not sure, Tim. We have too much going on to just stop. And Jason needs us around. We can’t leave him again.”

“It’d be easier if Alfred was still here,” Tim sighed, dropping his head on his arms. “Isn’t there a way to get a hold of him? Or Bruce? Bruce has to know that he’s back.”

_If only it were that easy._ Dick leaned back in his seat, fatigue making his eyes itch. “It’s just us now, kid. We have to handle this ourselves.”

Tim snorted, standing slowly. “Handle a re-animated sidekick, and Two-Face, and the disaster at Blackgate, and Gotham. Yeah, we can do that.”

Jason stood too, watching Tim as he reached for his backpack. Dick frowned, setting a hand on Jason’s shoulder to stop him. “I think he wants to go with you, Tim.”

Tim choked out a startled laugh, covering his mouth before he could stop himself. “As much fun as that sounds, I don’t know how I could explain that to my dad.”

“Maybe he wouldn’t notice?” Dick smiled weakly, guiding Jason back to his chair, sliding the rest of his dinner onto his plate. Jason glanced up at him, but resumed eating.

Tim rolled his eyes, hefting his backpack onto his shoulders. “Yeah, right. He’s been pushing his father-son bonding to the extreme these past few weeks. I wouldn’t want Jason to suffer through that too.”

“Yeah…” Dick walked over, squeezing Tim into a hug before the other could protest. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Tim. I’ll see what we can do for Jay in the meantime.”

“Sure.” Tim nodded, waving at Jason. “I’ll try to dig something up on my computer too. Maybe we can take him to a doctor, too. It might help us narrow down what we should focus on.”

“I’ll drive him to Leslie’s in the morning.” Dick hadn’t even thought about getting him medical help, or even checking him for injuries. They both knew basic first aid, but Jason hadn’t appeared hurt when they brought him to the manor. “I’ll check him downstairs just in case, though.”

“Okay. Good night, then. Bye, Jason!” Tim waved again and slipped out the door, making his  trek back home. The door shut, and all of a sudden, Dick felt very, very lonely. 

* * *

 

The drive to Leslie Thompkins’s office wasn't very long, but Dick felt uneasy the entire way there. His knuckles ached as he pulled up to the clinic, the suffocating silence making him tense. “Jason.”

The boy glanced over slowly, meeting Dick’s gaze blankly. Dick swallowed hard, sighing. This was his brother. He had to be there for him, no matter how uncomfortable it made him. “We’re gonna see Doc Thompkins, okay? She’s going to make sure you’re alright.”

They walked into the clinic together, and after a brief word with the receptionist, Jason was whisked away into an exam room.

Dick sat heavily in the waiting room, flipping through magazines to pass the time, trying to ignore the needling at the back of his mind. _You’re wasting time. You could be doing something important. You could be finding Dent._

“Richard?” He was jarred out of his thoughts by Leslie herself, looking unimpressed as he accidentally capsized a stack of magazines.

He squeaked out a small ‘sorry!’ as he quickly stacked them up again, scrambling over to the waiting woman. She fought a smile, walking briskly down the hall. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah…sorry we didn’t come under better circumstances…” He cleared his throat as Leslie stopped in front of one of the rooms, pushing it open slowly.

Jason sat quietly on the examination table, shirt and jacket wadded into a ball beside him.

“Jason, you can put your shirt back on,” Leslie said gently, ushering Dick into the examination room.

Jason slowly gathered his clothes, turning his back to Dick. A thick scar ran jaggedly across his back, from the top of his left shoulder down to the small of his back, disappearing past his waistband. The skin on the left was free of scars and blemishes – Dick distinctly remembered a few scars on Jason’s ribs from a knife fight gone wrong, maybe a year after he became Robin. The scars were gone.

There were plenty of marks on his right side, though. Scars from bullets that were too close for comfort, from blades and claws and teeth. Scars they all knew too well.

Dick turned to Leslie, feeling the bile rise in his throat. “So what’s the verdict?”

“Well.” Leslie flipped through Jason’s medical chart. “He’s malnourished and slightly dehydrated, but I’m sure you can take care of that now. I also gave him some shots, just in case. He’s got some nasty bites from some rats, probably, but they haven’t gotten infected.”

Leslie watched as Jason fixed his shirt and sat on the examination table, eyes blank. “Physically, he’ll be alright. Mentally, though…” She shook her head, shutting the file in her hands. “If what you told me over the phone is true, that he came back to life, I hate to think of the trauma the poor boy’s dealt with. Repressing the memories is a coping mechanism for many people suffering from PTSD.  I wouldn’t be surprised if this is the case too, but you might want a second opinion.”

“Right…thanks, doc…” Dick waved Jason over, watching as he slowly shuffled beside him. “Can I ask about the scars…?”

Leslie raised an eyebrow at him, making him feel like he was twelve years old all over again. “He was blown up. They didn’t bury a body that day. They buried the _remains_. That scar is what separates his old body from the new one.”

Dick wasn’t sure how to respond after that. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

* * *

 

 That night, Dick made dinner for himself and Jason, chattering idly to fill the silence. The manor, empty and dusty as it was, was just a reminder of how screwed up everything had gotten.

Jason still hadn’t said a word, but he wasn’t as pale anymore, so Dick tallied that up as a victory.

“I need to see if Babs would be okay with having you stay with her for a while,” Dick said, twirling a spatula in his hand absently. “Just until patrol is over.”

The thought of keeping him at Babs’ place until everything blew over – or at least until Two-Face was back in jail – crossed his mind, but he dismissed it as quickly as it arrived. He couldn’t do that to Jason or Babs. Dick was Batman now. He was responsible for Jason.

If it had been Bruce that found him, he would have made sure everything was wrapped up as fast as possible in order to focus all his attention on Jason.

He waved the thought away as he sat to eat, glancing at the clock on the microwave. He had time to drop Jason off with Babs if he hurried, and would barely make it in time to suit up and go on patrol.

Still, the thought of dumping him unannounced left a bad taste in his mouth.

Jason was his responsibility. He could always cut patrol short, or call in the Birds to take over for the night.

After all, it couldn’t hurt them too much if he went out on patrol.

Right?

* * *

 

The screaming started almost as soon as the grandfather clock shut behind Dick.

Swearing, he ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, as the hoarse screaming continued. He slid across the wooden floors, shoulder slamming into a bedroom door, the doorknob digging into his hip painfully. Wheezing, he pinballed down the hall, ripping Jason’s door open with more force than necessary.

Jason was sitting ramrod straight in bed, voice hoarse as he continued screaming. His nails were digging into his palms, and even in the dim light, Dick could already see streaks of blood on the bed sheets.

Shaking with adrenaline, he stumbled into the room, wrapping Jason up tight in his arms, tucking the heavy cape around his shoulders. His screams were now muffled, but Dick could feel Jason’s muscles taught with tension, straining as his voice cracked.

“Jason…Jason, it’s okay. I’m here.” Dick whispered, holding him tight. He was exhausted, and aching from a lucky punch to the jaw, but his night hadn’t been as bad as Jason’s, apparently.

His screams subsided as Dick continued whispering, rubbing his back and stroking his hair like his mother used to do when Dick had nightmares. Eventually, Jason went limp in his arms, tears drying on his face slowly.

Dick sighed, wiping his face gently before maneuvering him back under the covers. He’d have to clean the blood off his hands in the morning, once they were both a little more rested.

He slowly crept out of the room, undoing the clasps on the cape, when a faint sob made him turn. Jason was curled up tight under his blankets, sniffling in his sleep, whispering something softly.

Curious, Dick made his way back to the bed, kneeling down to listen, feeling his heart clench at the heartbroken look on Jason’s face.

“Bruce…”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a really cool prompt, and definitely something that can (and should!) be continued! So that's a possibility in the future!


End file.
